Though it has been fashioned with an eye toward scaring us and
upsetting our sleep, it is fair to say that the horror film has inspired
more loving devotion than any other genre. Much of this devotion has
been manifested in the form of representational art. There is no doubt
that a lot of artists - and not just those who continued to pay homage
to the genre - got their start by drawing monsters, by using pencil and
paper to gird themselves against what frightened them and to better
understand what it was about monsters that attracted them. The
specifically great thing about such art, in its highest expression, is
what another pair of eyes can tell us about different faces and moments
on film that we - though decades, even lifetimes, of exposure - have
convinced ourselves we have completely seen. The marvelously craggy,
garishly colored paintings of Basil Gogos, the almost clinically precise
portraiture of Daniel Horne and, more recently, the boldly realistic
lifesize sculptures of Mike Hill form a testimony to how much more there
is to experience from any single horror film image passed down to us.
Then
there is the field of what is called "fan art" - art that is produced
without a professional goal, though very often with professional chops.
It sometimes appears in fan magazines and is sold from tables at
conventions. The dean of such work, certainly where the world of
monsters is concerned, is Frank Dietz, whose restless and varied
professional career has included stints as a film director, actor,
Disney animator and award-winning documentarian. Frank is accomplished
at any number of things, but he is
beloved for his Rondo
Award-winning fan art - pencil drawings, charcoals and acrylic paintings
that are now proudly collected in an irresistible softcover compendium
entitled SKETCHY THINGS: THE ART OF FRANK DIETZ (
sketchythingsart.com, $50.00).
Dietz's
art is remarkable for its own innate restlessness, encompassing and
lampoons, as well as some portraits of stunning sobriety and profundity.
And then there are the occasional pieces, the real pinnacles of this
book, in which all of his available styles come home to roost. His Edgar
Allan Poe is done in his cartoon style, ever so slightly heightened
with limnings of realism, and he stares back at you, somewhat lopsidedly
as was his want, with such clarity you can almost read the insolent
thought at the back of his mind and the fears foregrounding it. Equally
impressive is his rendering of Roddy McDowall as Caesar in CONQUEST OF
THE PLANET OF THE APES, where his love for the film, for the actor, for
the performance, for animals and matinees invite the eye to linger over
its layers and layers of textured devotion.
Elsewhere,
he delights in showing us the lunacy of the genre, from Lon Chaney as
Quasimodo ringing the bells at Notre Dame to the the dolefully-eyed
Brain balloon from Planet Arous. To see his drawings of the various
heroes of these horrors - from Lon Chaney Jr to Kevin McCarthy, from a
shrieking Elsa Lanchester to a post-BATMAN Adam West, from a
Tingler-examining Vincent Price to a poodle-haired Boris Karloff
surrendering to a pool of quicksand - is to have a lifetime of cinema
flash before our eyes, and to laugh at revelations buried in the tenor
of his draughtsmanship about the actor's individual pride or shame. The
caricatures on display are sometimes mercillessly (but always lovingly)
observed, telling us how much the actor was likely paid for their
performance, how many drinks they had for lunch, and who was directing
them. The more you know about such films, the more richly Dietz's work
repays your attention.
It's not all horror and
sf-related art. The most ambitious piece in the book is a mind-boggling
panorama entitled "The Last Call," which depicts several dozen memorable
Western stars from film and television, in costume, scattered around
the tavern from the John Wayne feature THE SHOOTIST. Set aside a good
half hour to fully appreciate everything buried in it, and then begin to
ponder the months of work that must have gone into its creation.
Opening
with a Foreword by Greg Nicotero and an Introduction by comedian Dana
Gould, SKETCHY THINGS presents its portfolio in themed chapters, ranging
from silents to early talkies, "The Big Guys", the Fifties, the Black
Lagoon, Hammer horror, Harryhausen, Apes, jungle girls, Vincent Price
and so forth. Going through it all is an almost overwhelming experience
because it's not just a book about a man and his art; it's about the
emotions aroused by this supposedly repellant genre of horror, the
splendid creativity that so many other artists have brought to it, and
so many little twinkles we were so sure that only we saw when they
passed by on the silver screen.
There are any number of
books about the genre that have more to say, but few books about the
cinema of imagination are as articulate, affectionate and altogether stimulating as
SKETCHY THINGS.
